


Stay

by camrin



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camrin/pseuds/camrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is wrong with Tim Lincecum? (May 2012)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> A short little piece for Chelsea, who said she wanted _"some Timmy/Zito. something sappy and melancholy."_

How long do you wait before you start worrying? When is it no longer just bad luck?

Tim Lincecum didn’t know. What he _did_ know was that it had been a very rocky start for him this season, and he couldn’t quite tell why. Usually when something’s wrong, you can identify what’s fucking things up and fix it. But Tim couldn’t do that. It reminded him of one of his friend’s old motorbikes. Something was messed up with the gas tank, but it was a shitty model that was all built in one piece, so it was hard to take it apart to try to fix it.

Tim felt like a shitty motorbike. Something was clunking around inside him, and he wasn’t running right. Maybe he didn’t condition right during the off-season. Maybe he was getting too old. Maybe his fastball was getting too slow. Maybe he’d lost too much weight. Maybe he’d lost his mind.

Sitting in his hotel room, he watched the swirling grey clouds travel across the lazy Milwaukee sky. He’d tried to read on his bed, but he’d never had much attention for long books, and this one that his dad had sent him was dry. “Focusing the mind comes first. Then focusing the body,” Chris had said. Tim couldn’t focus for shit.

It was hard not to get angry. Tim never really had a temper for anything except letting himself down, and this was taking it to new levels. He stood up and walked over to the sliding glass doors separating the room from the balcony and pulled the curtains open even more. He wanted to see the gloomy day outside. He wanted to be able to wallow in his own misery for a second.

His pity party was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He considered ignoring it, but didn’t want to be rude. It wasn’t his team’s fault that he was deteriorating; they were doing everything they could to help him out.

He opened the door and his breath caught in his throat a little. “Hey, Timmy,” Barry said, smiling sadly at him. “Came to check on you.”

“Worried I’d off myself?” Tim joked somberly. Barry nodded.

“Yeah. Always thought you were messed up in the head. Someone’s got to take care of you.”

“Might as well be someone just as fucked up,” Tim said. It was like an old routine; ever since Tim had been called up, one of them was usually in some sort of downward spiral. Those two lines had been their mantra, trading them off whenever one would arrive to comfort the other. But now things were a little different. Barry was married. He was approaching the end of the seven-year curse, as he sometimes jokingly referred to it. Time was marching forward.

Tim moved aside to let Barry in. He sat on the edge of Tim’s bed, folding one leg on top of the other. “You wanna talk about it?” Barry asked.

“Nah,” Tim said, waving him off.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Barry repeated.

“I… don’t know what to talk about.”

And he didn’t. Especially not with Barry, who he hadn’t seen socially like this in quite a while. They hung side-by-side in practice sometimes and chatted about ball, but they hadn’t had a real conversation in months.

 -

The last time they were really together was a quiet day in November during the offseason. Tim was working hard conditioning his body, swimming laps and eating “rabbit food”, as his college friends called it. Barry had flown out to Seattle to spend a few days with Tim in his downtown apartment.

Tim was sitting on the couch, eyes closed and head leaning back. Barry was uncorking a bottle of wine he’d bought and pouring it into two souvenir Seattle Seahawks cups. Other than a coffee mug, they were the only dishes Tim had.

“You seem tired,” Barry said, walking over to the couch and handing Tim a cup. Tim smiled and took a drink.

“I am tired. I swam a thousand miles today.”

“You’re killing yourself.”

“No I’m not, I’m fine,” Tim said, setting his cup on the coffee table in front of him. “Besides, I have to. I got fat as fuck this season.”

“No,” Barry said, and trailed off.

“I did, man. You saw how my knees were starting to bother me.”

“You’re going to waste away if you keep working this hard.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tim said, turning his head towards Barry and smiling weakly. Barry brushed Tim’s hair behind his cheek. He leaned forward and kissed Tim’s forehead.

“Sometimes you seen sixteen, and sometimes you seem sixty,” he told him.

“You always seem sixty. No, six hundred.” Barry laughed.

“Ouch.”

Tim leaned forward and pressed his lips against Barry’s. Barry held Tim’s face in his hands and kissed him back, leaning his body towards him.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” Barry breathed against Tim’s lips. “I always have.” Barry had that strange sort of matter-of-fact way of saying things that made Tim feel simultaneously warm and embarrassed. Especially when he said things about Tim.

Barry pulled Tim’s grey tee shirt over his head and gently pushed Tim on his back against the couch. He slid the waistband of Tim’s sweatpants down low enough to begin pressing soft kisses to his hips, working his way up his body. Tim sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes and running his hands through Barry’s hair. The soft ache of exercise faded from his body as he felt spots of heat where Barry’s mouth had traveled.

They’d fucked on this couch countless times since Tim had moved in. Tim preferred to do it in a bed, but Barry always got turned on by how well Tim could contort himself in smaller places. Tim couldn’t complain. Barry knew his body even better than he seemed to at times. He always ended up making Tim come harder than he even thought possible.

The sun was setting outside. The orange-red rays of the sunset were shining in against Barry’s naked back as he thrust slowly into Tim, kissing his neck.

“So perfect,” Barry said quietly, almost sadly. Tim stared into his eyes, dark and brooding.

“Barry,” he whined, kissing him softly. Barry kissed him back enthusiastically, thrusting faster as Tim’s breath quickened against his mouth.

“Talk to me, Timmy,” Barry said, leaning his forehead against Tim’s.

“I…” Tim breathed as Barry pushed in harder, causing Tim’s fingernails to tighten against Barry’s back. “You fuck me so good, Barry. God. I never feel as good as I do when I’m with you.”

This was apparently what Barry had wanted to hear, as he sighed and came inside Tim, resting his head against his shoulder. After a minute or so, he lifted up his head and kissed Tim, moving his hand down to massage Tim’s erection. Tim thrust his hips into Barry’s hand, moving with him until he came against his chest.

They lay together as the sun finished setting. This was the part Tim liked the most, though he’d never admit it. He loved feeling Barry flush against his skin, both of them satisfied in a way completely unique to their relationship.

They finished the bottles of wine that night and Barry hung around Tim’s apartment with the dogs the next day while Tim went to training. They fucked twice that night, once in the shower and once in Tim’s bed. As they were falling asleep, Barry ran his thumb along Tim’s jawline. “I’m getting married, Timmy,” he said. Tim turned to face him.

“Yeah. To Amber. I know. I’m happy for you,” he said genuinely. He really was.

“When I’m married,” Barry began, choking up a little, “We… can’t do this anymore.”

Tim stared at him. “What?” he asked, sounding angrier than he intended to.

“We can’t do stuff like this once I’m married. I’m making a promise to Amber and I… can’t be with you like this. It’s not fair to her.”

Tim’s mind reeled. Being with Barry had been a part of his life ever since he had been called up. It had been only a few months into his rookie season in the bigs that Barry had taken him back to his place and kissed him for the first time, and the two of them had been in and out of each other’s beds ever since. It wasn’t a torrid love affair; it was just… customary. Familiar. Tim and Barry were together, always. When Barry felt terrible, he came to Tim and he clung to him as they slept, as if he were afraid of losing him. When Tim lost himself to the recesses of his own mind, Barry was there to smooth his hair and tell him that he’d work it all out, kissing him until he forgot what he had even been upset about in the first place.

It was something that had become so routine that Tim never anticipated it not being there. But looking into Barry’s eyes and hearing the serious tone of his voice, Tim knew that things were never going to be the same.

“Tim, do you care about me enough to understand what I’m saying, and to not get mad at me for it?” Barry asked. Tim nodded, afraid to meet his gaze.

“I do,” he said quietly. Barry pulled him against his chest.

“I knew you would,” he breathed against Tim’s hair. “You’re too good to me,” he said, kissing the top of his head.

Barry pulled him close and fell asleep almost instantly. It took Tim a bit longer.

 

The next morning, Barry packed his bags to catch his afternoon flight. Tim stood in the doorway in an old green robe that had once belonged to Barry, rubbing his dog Cy absentmindedly with the side of his foot. Once Barry was packed, Tim walked him to the door of his apartment.

“So this is probably the last time we’re going to be… hanging out like this,” Tim said. Barry nodded solemnly.

“Yeah. Yeah, probably.”

He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Tim’s lips. He looked at Tim sadly for a moment and dropped his bags, pulling Tim in tighter and kissing him more deeply, running his hand through Tim’s hair and pulling Tim up to his height. When they parted, it seemed like Barry was holding something back. He stroked Tim’s cheek with his thumb.

“There is always going to be a part of me that’s in love with you,” Barry admitted softly, staring into Tim’s eyes. With that, he picked up his bags and was gone. Tim stood there, staring at the door of his apartment for fifteen minutes before he could gather himself to move.

- 

Snapping back to the present, Tim turned his attention back to Barry. “What do you talk about when you don’t know what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Retrace your steps, I guess?” Barry offered.

“What, figure out when my body fell apart? It’s going to be hard.”

“Did you pitch a lot during the offseason?” Barry asked. The awkwardness in the room intensified. Tim hadn’t talked to Barry at all during the offseason after that day other than sending an impersonal card to his wedding.

“Not really,” Tim said. “But that’s never hurt me in the past.”

“Do you think it’s your size?”

“Fuck it, Barry, how do I know? I go through this checklist once a day.”

“Sorry,” Barry said. “Just… trying to help.”

Tim shrugged and turned away from him, looking back out the window. The clouds were darkening; it was probably going to storm soon. “I don’t know if anyone can help,” Tim confessed, sighing. Talking with Rags didn’t do anything. He’d talked to his father once, who insisted it was just a phase and bad luck, but stressed that Tim should up his lifting. Bochy was trying his hardest not to make it sound like he was concerned, but Tim knew he was. Everyone was.

He shook his head and slid his hands in his pockets. “What if this is how it ends for me?” Tim murmured. “What if I just fizzle out? The clock strikes midnight, and I turn into a pumpkin on the mound?” he joked gloomily. He felt warm arms slide around his waist, and though he wanted to remain rigid against Barry’s embrace, he melted against him.

“This doesn’t end yet for you,” Barry said against Tim’s hair. “It can’t.”

“Barry,” Tim said. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out, beautiful,” Barry said. He nuzzled against Tim’s neck, and for a moment it was 2010, and Tim had been slumping for weeks trying to work things out with Posey. Barry had held him every night, assuring him that these things worked themselves out.

“God, Barry,” Tim whispered. “Why don’t you want me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” Barry choked, tightening his grip around Tim’s waist. “It’s that I can’t have you.”

 _But you can,_ Tim wanted to say. _You can have me. Hell, you already do._

He turned around to kiss Barry, but he had let go and was walking towards the door. “I have to go,” Barry said. “I… I have to go.”

“Okay,” Tim said, after a long pause. Barry nodded and walked into the hallway. This time, Tim only stared at the door for a few seconds before stripping off his clothes and crawling into his hotel bed, pulling the covers over his head. He heard the rain begin to pound against the glass doors, and prayed for sleep. 


End file.
